


the path to hate

by staticpetrichor



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has Weight Issues (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a brat and if u think otherwise sorry, Body Dysmorphic Disorder, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), But he is, Eating Disorders, Everyone Is Gay, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Top Crowley (Good Omens), canonly, crowley is a concerned mess tbh, dont know a whole lot :'), gabe is a dick too btw, i just, idk - Freeform, idk what im doing anymore, kind of, not established relationship but like, not yet at least ;), so like, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:48:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21982435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staticpetrichor/pseuds/staticpetrichor
Summary: Aziraphale just wants Gabe to get off his back about his weight, that's it. At least at first. And Crowley just really wants to know what in the fuck is happening to (his) the angel.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 137





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> heyo whats this another half baked fic sitting in my drafts? yea

Aziraphale pushed the food, some medley of chicken and peanut sauce that had once been a favorite, around on the plate. The scent encircled him. Sweet and utterly delicious. Welcoming. He knew how delightful it would taste as it touched his tongue, nearly sinful in its savory. 

_ Soft. _

Gabe’s words burrowed further into his head. Had he truly let his vessel turn into something unbecoming? Sickening? If so he shouldn’t eat, especially not something as calorie ridden as this. But Aziraphale didn’t want to waste the food. 

Surely that would be a crime in itself?

Maybe he could give it to someone who needed it?

He hadn’t eaten all day, though.

Appalled, both by the train his thoughts had taken and his lack of self-control, Zira stood abruptly from the table, took the plate in hand and dumped the whole thing unceremoniously into the garbage. There, wasn’t that better? No more fretting over it, because he certainly wasn’t going to go after it now. His stomach rumbled, filling him with the soon to be familiar feel of bubbling burning acid.

It was a strangely warm sensation. Maybe it wasn’t something he could get used to, but he could most definitely endure it

See now? It wasn’t such a terrible feeling.

⁂

Aziraphale stood in front of the mirror and, after brief internal scolding at his vanity, turned a critical eye onto his own form. Yes, he did have a gut. And the way his hips overflowed from his waistband, providing soft pillow-y little mountains of flesh, was utterly unacceptable. Not to mention the loose skin beneath his chin, or the thickness of his thighs. 

_ Soft. _

He did not want to be soft any longer. Unbidden his thoughts turned to Crowley, to his body. To the hard planes of his chest, easily distinguishable through his ridiculously tight fitting suits. The elegant lines of his jaw, the ease with which he walked, the way humans and demons alike turned to watch him go with more than a spark in their eyes. 

He wasn’t jealous, only he disliked the thought very much and wasn’t quite sure why. It didn’t matter anyway, he told himself. He was not some vain creature who needed people lusting after him. Zira just needed to get himself in shape to appease Gabe. 

That was all.

⁂

In the two weeks since his enlightening conversation with his boss Zira felt like he might’ve lost a bit of weight. He hadn’t eaten very much and he felt rather poorly but he’d managed a walk around the park without getting too lightheaded so he was in high spirits by the time he returned to his bookstore. 

Aziraphale couldn’t remember if his vessel would become ill without food or not. Well, of course it would eventually, but he didn’t know what time frame he was working in. Part of his objective for today involved figuring that out, digging through his books for those bits of archaic knowledge. 

His plans came to a screeching halt as he noticed the black Bentley on the corner, when he saw that familiar lean shadow on his doorstep. Crowley. Zira had missed him dearly of course, but a selfish part of him was disappointed he’s still so, so-

_ Soft _ . 

He wanted Crowley to see him as sleek and fast and lovely, not unlike that blessed car of his. The demon in question glanced up from his phone as Aziraphale approached, concern quickly marring his face, “Bloody hell! Angel, are you okay?” 

Zira frowned softly and it’s just then that he noticed how strange everything looks, little black dots seemed to be dancing in his eyes, making everything just a tad blurred and dizzying. “Quite alright, dear. And yourself?” 

“Better than you, that’s for damn sure.” Crowley all but spat, one hand wrapping firmly, but gently around Aziraphale’s arm to steady him, “What’s the matter? Are you  _ ill _ ?” 

“No! Of course not! I just got a b-bit dizzy, out in the sun and all, you understand.” 

Crowley hissed something decidedly vulgar and guided the angel into the store. 

⁂

Hours later Crowley sat across from Aziraphale and contemplated how on Earth things have gotten this bad. The angel in front of him had lost damn near 20 pounds. The soft, slightly flushed cheeks are gone, leaving pale sunken skin in their place. The cream waist-coast visibly hung off his hips, no longer snug and well-shaped. Zira’s jacket appeared several sizes too large for him, swallowing up his shoulders and back, leaving him with a tired husk-like appearance. 

Wracking his head for anything that could have possibly triggered  _ this,  _ soon proved to be asinine. He hadn’t even been gone that long, only two weeks. Truly he’s torn between wanting to believe he caused this and the horror of what unknown might have instead. 

Torturing himself with such images may offer the purgatory he deserved but it did nothing to help Zira, Crowley reminded himself. He’d attempted to get his,  _ the  _ angel to talk to him for damn near an hour now. His gentle prods and quiet coaxing words were met with flippant, airy excuses so unlike Zira that he was further thrown in dismay.

Crowley ran a hand through his hair and huffed out a sharp breath. Aziraphale’s eyes snapped up to meet his own and he offered a sheepish smile as if in respite for his refusal to speak. “I don’t understand why you won’t just tell me what’s happened,” Crowley reiterated for what felt like the hundredth time. 

“Because nothing has! Honestly Crowley, I’m absolutely fine,”

He resisted the urge to growl again. He hated that word.  _ Fine.  _ Dismal, unbecoming, not a word that should ever describe the angel. Zira should never be just  _ fine.  _ Magnificent is a much more suiting word. Stunning, fabulous, perfect, any of them would do. Just not  _ fine. _

Crowley decided he hated the word fine. 

“I’m not leaving until you come up with a better answer than that,” The demon warned, all softness out the window as he settled himself stubbornly in the seat. He’d stay here all night and day if that’s what it took.

Aziraphale’s blue eyes rolled in a decidedly  _ un- _ angel like manner as he muttered, “As if I care.” 

“Sassy today aren’t we, love?” 

Crowley took a decidedly demonic delight in the blush that sprang to his cheeks at the pet name, the added benefit being Zira looked a little less like a ghost now. He had snapped up a spread of all sorts of sweet things that usually appealed to him, but the angel had claimed he felt nauseous and wasn’t at all hungry.

And watching as the red spots in his cheeks quickly faded, once more replaced by that tired, strained expression, Crowley’s stomach clenched, an awful mix of worry and fear settling deep in his bones. 

The demon supposed he was in for quite a wait. But that didn’t bother him. No it didn't bother him at all. What did however, was what he might find at the end of it. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all sorry for the long wait college takes up lots of time who'd have thought? anyway here's chapter 2 so i think it's safe to say this will be a multi-chap fic, it probably won't be very long however, maybe 5-7 chapters total? idk
> 
> feel free to hmu on tumblr @tonystarksbish or @somanyshipsss !!

Crowley would be lying if he said he’d strayed far from the angel’s side in the days that followed. And he would also be lying if he said he was upset by that fact. However, Aziraphale was holding out against whatever it was that had hurt him for much longer than the demon thought was possible. **  
**

That in itself was another worry, but not quite as pressing as the one that had the angel eating, at most, a meal a day. He’d since ruled out an actual physical problem, despite Zira’s claims, because he’d caught the spark of desire in those soft blue eyes whenever he had placed food before him. 

It was always hidden before Crowley could comment on it, but he saw it all the same. 

And with that the problem was debunked, and he hadn’t really thought it was something like that to begin with, who on Earth had heard of a physically ill _angel_? It was one of those things that just didn’t happen. Then again demons and angels being as friendly as the two of them were was rather unheard of too. But in the last few days he had learned some interesting things. For example, he’d begun to note how Zira refused to so much as glance in the mirror, going so far as to avoid the reflection in mud puddles and ponds, or the Bentley’s hubcaps.

Before Crowley’s vacation amongst the planets he had once helped form, Zira was alright. He wasn’t vain or anything of the sort, of course not. But he knew that it wouldn’t kill him to dress up and indulge in a bit of luxury. Now, the very idea seemed poisonous to the angel, caused his face to pale even further and mouth to purse in what could only be described as pain. 

Crowley wanted to hit something. No, he wanted to hit whatever something was responsible for _this_. He had his suspicions, but without the Zira’s say so he’d be further damned to act on them. 

Even now, Aziraphale flipped through a book with a distant expression. Eyes glazed and skimming over the page far too slowly. 

“I think we should go out tonight, angel.” Sure, it’s not exactly a gentle prod but he needed to see what would happen if push came to shove. 

“I think I’ll stay in, my dear. But if you’d like to don’t let me keep you.” 

“I do want to. But I want to with _you,_ yeah?” 

“I’m sorry, Crowley. I really don’t feel up to all that.” Zira settled back against his chair with an air of stubbornness the demon could feel.

“You haven’t even heard my plans yet.” 

“Going by past experience I think it’s safe to say they’ll be a little much for me right now.” And the words were dangerously close to those aching ones, _you go to fast for me,_ which cut deeper than he’d care to admit. 

“What if I promised something quiet? Simple? Dinner, just you and me. I’ll clear out the whole restaurant if you’d like.” 

Aziraphale’s cheeks flushed a soft pink as he set the book down on his knees, “That’s very kind of you.”

The demon refrained from mentioning that ruining hundreds of peoples’ date nights isn’t exactly kind, because if the angel wants to think of it as a purely sweet selfless gesture he wasn’t going to correct him, “Is that a ‘yes’, then?” 

“Kind and _very_ unnecessary.” 

Crowley wanted to huff, or snap, wanted to do something to release the taut annoyed energy building inside of him, but the faint tremor in Zira’s hands as he stood up vanished away his anger like breath silencing an over enthusiastic candle. And maybe it’s because of that that he couldn’t keep his next words in.

“You need to eat. You’ll disincorporate if you don’t.” Blunt, far too blunt. But watching his hands shake, his eyes flutter as if even standing caused him to spin, blunt is all Crowley can be. 

The angel shot him a startled, nearly panicked look, “I eat plenty! What on Earth are you talking about?”

“Name something you’ve eaten today, Zira,” But he doesn’t wait for him to respond, “You can’t because there isn’t a damn thing. And I’m not upset,” Because the thought of Zira blaming himself for this hurt too badly to even consider, “not at all love, but I need you to talk to me or I can’t help. Whatever this is, whoever or whatever caused it, I _want_ to help you feel better. I can only do that if I understand the problem.” 

Aziraphale sat back down, swiping anxiously at his eyes with the back of a hand and Crowley’s stomach fell through the fucking floor. He’d made him cry. 

He had made his angel cry when he already felt so very poorly. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry, love please I didn’t mean it like that. Didn’t mean to make you upset.” He crouched in front of his chair, hands cautiously covering Zira’s in what he hoped was reassurance. 

“No, no it’s alright. I know you didn’t, dear!” Aziraphale didn’t shake off his touch, only moved to grasp his hands more solidly, “Just give me a moment.” 

It takes more than a moment but Crowley is happy to spend the time tracing nonsensical shapes on the soft, delicate skin that covers the angel’s knuckles. 

“You aren’t wrong.” He finally murmured, tone quiet in an ashamed sort of way that made the hair on Crowley’s neck stand up in horror, “No, no let me finish please. I haven’t been feeling well lately and I don’t think it is in… an entirely physical sort of way. I’m sorry I lied to you, but I’m just not quite sure how to explain it.” 

“Maybe you could start with what made you feel this way, yeah? What triggered it?” 

“I wouldn’t call it a _trigger_! Crowley, no offense but that’s far too serious a term.” 

He rolled his eyes but didn’t bother arguing it further, too concerned that if he did he’d lose whatever possible explanation Aziraphale was about to give, “Alright, alright, carry on.” 

“Well, I suppose it started when - and I’m not certain this is the case - but while you were gone Gabriel did visit,” Everything in Crowley tensed, suspicions becoming reality too quickly for his mind to process, “and he was very displeased with me.” 

Rage is a palpable thing, pulsing under his skin, the sickeningly twisted twin to his heartbeat. But he stuffed it down someplace where it couldn’t touch Zira, and asked, “Displeased with you? Like with your work or..” 

“No, he didn’t mention anything work related now that I think about it. It was more with, you know, me as an angel, I suppose.”

“What did he say?” Okay, so maybe that rage isn’t tampened down entirely, if the surprised look that crossed Aziraphale’s face was any indication. 

“He made some, very justified honestly, comments about how I could be taking better care of my vessel.”

There’s a cold slimy thing unfurling just behind Crowley’s heart, something that feels a whole lot like dread. He knew that whatever that vile asshole told him wasn’t true, wasn’t justified and was nothing but a part of his ploy to pick apart his subordinates, but he also knew that this man has been Zira’s boss for a very long time. Knew that they’ve worked together for years and that his words held weight with Aziraphale even when they shouldn’t. 

But he steadied those thoughts with a deep breath and pressed his lips gently against their entwined fingers, “Will you please tell me a little about these comments?” 

Cheeks once more blushing and eyes shimmering, Zira does. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry this fucker took so long and that it's vv short. basically real life is kicking my ass and college is hard who'd have thought lmfao

Crowley doesn’t think he’s ever felt anything like the anger that has built inside of him. Nothing else could come close. It’s a rage that brings words like “fire” and “doomsday” and “hell’s reckoning” to mind. 

The kind of rage that makes him furious the apocalypse didn’t happen, if only so he could kill the son of a bitch who’d so thoroughly shattered his angel’s confidence. Not that he wasn’t still planning on it, now he’d just have to be a lot more careful but, Crowley was most definitely up for the challenge. 

His very blood boils and his hands ache with the strain of not slamming them into the nearest wall. But that wouldn’t have helped anything at all, now would it? Would only serve to frighten the angel, would only make this worse, _somehow_. 

It would make him feel a hell of a lot better. 

Could imagine the oak paneling as Gabriel’s face, could feel it crumble beneath his knuckles. 

_No._

He wouldn’t be selfish. Not now, not about this. 

Crowley forces himself to stop pacing. To focus solely on Zira, whose blue eyes watch him nervously and with more than a drop of trepidation. It doesn’t matter that he has already tried to convince the angel that those words hold no truth. It doesn’t matter because he doesn’t believe the demon. Not one little bit. 

He can see his assurances bounce off, fall to the floor and shatter, powerless against the heavyweight of insecurity. 

That won’t do.

He kneels down again, hands once more finding Aziraphale’s, covering them thoroughly as if that action alone could protect him from any further harm. Zira huffs softly and offers a half-shrug in answer to the question burning in the demon’s eyes. 

He isn’t alright. He isn’t alright and he’s hiding it once more to spare Crowley’s feelings.

No, that won’t do at all. 

“I’m sorry,” He murmurs gently, hoping that the blonde understands just how much he’s apologizing for. 

“No, no my dear. You have absolutely nothing to apologize for! I shouldn’t have mentioned it, it’s just a stupid little thing. I shouldn’t have let it affect me.” The growl in his chest is a barely restrained thing because somehow it’s even worse to hear him try and pretend like that awful fucking comment didn’t hurt him.

“It shouldn’t have been said in the first place, angel.” Sighing through his nose, Crowley continues, “Besides being blatantly untrue, it was also cruel and petty and the opposite of anything even remotely professional.” 

Zira manages to roll his eyes before the demon squeezes his hands gently, forcing him to meet his gaze once more, “I’m not kidding. Please believe me, Aziraphale.” 

A devilish thought pops into his head. A way he could _make_ the angel believe him and it certainly isn’t hard to picture when his cheeks are already flushed, and the warmth of his thighs is flooding through Crowley’s forearms. But now probably wasn’t the time for all that. 

“I _do_ believe you. It’s just,”

A ginger brow quirks in an attempt to coax the rest of the sentence out. 

“Well, don’t you think that as my- well you know, _f-friend_ you’re a bit biased?” 

The demon scowls, thumb tracing over the delicate dips between fingers, “No. If anything it makes me _less_ biased.” His arrogant tone serves its purpose. The angel’s mouth pulls up on one side as he asks, “And what sort of logic did you use to get that answer, my dear?” 

Crowley hums, unable to keep his lips from pressing into Zira’s knuckles once more, “A very solid kind of logic. An indisputable method actually, so arguing against it is pointless.” 

And then his angel’s laugh sounds, soft and genuine as he watches Crowley’s mouth against his skin. There’s something in his eyes, something hungry. And not hungry in the way that Crowley needs him to be right now. Oh, Hell they certainly aren’t going to make it easy on him, now are they? 

He clears his throat roughly, anything to tampen down the burn spreading low in his stomach, anything to get Aziraphale to stop looking at him like that, to make those pale lashes stop fluttering oh-so-softly. 

But he doesn’t really want that. What he wants is to lean forward and trace the angel’s cupid bow with his tongue, wants to finally, _finally_ taste him, to satisfy an appetite that's six thousand years in the making, wants to hear him moan and feel him squirm. 

But Zira isn’t well. He needs to talk to someone, needs to eat something. He doesn’t need a complication that could potentially hurt or even scare him. 

So, Crowley offers a smile instead of a kiss, instead of _everything else,_ and murmurs, “If I were to make crepes, do you think you could try and eat some?” At the angel’s anxious look he quickly adds, “Just try, that’s all I’m asking. I won’t be upset if you can’t, but if you could try for me I would appreciate it very much.” 

Aziraphale squeezes his hands firmly and sighs, “I suppose I could t-try.”

And Crowley would be lying if he said something in his chest didn’t unclench just a bit. 

“That’s all I’m asking for, love.” 


End file.
